The Offer
by JanetD
Summary: Burton offers Nick a job at Fallin & Associates.


**Title:** The Offer (1/1)  
**Date Written:** 3/10/02  
**Author:** JanetD  
**Rating:** PG (language)  
**Summary:** Burton offers Nick a job at Fallin & Associates.  
**Author's Notes:** This story was inspired by the episode . Much thanks to Meghan for her assistance, especially with the addition of NYC . Thanks also to Goldie for her inspiration re the story about young Nick. =)  
**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are borrowed from the TV show "The Guardian". No money is being made from this story. Any resemblance of a character in this story to any real person living or dead is purely coincidental. Likewise, any resemblance between an organization depicted in this story and any such actual organization is purely coincidental.  
  
New York City - 1997  
  
The sound of a ringing phone split the silence.  
  
Don't answer it, she said, twining her arms tighter around his neck.  
  
Won't. The machine will get it, he replied, as he resumed trailing kisses down her lovely throat.   
  
The answering machine picked up after the fourth ring, and in a moment, a voice said, Nick, it's me.... It's Dad.  
  
The young man was jolted to sudden attention by the sound of his father's voice. Quickly disentwining himself from Minette, he got up, and hurried over to pick up the phone.  
  
he said, slightly out of breath.  
  
Oh, Nick. You are there. Good. How ya, how ya doing, son?  
  
Uh, fine, I'm fine. How, how are you? Nick replied, glancing back at Minette as he ran a hand through his curly, blonde hair.  
  
I'm good. No complaints. How's work going?  
  
Great.... It's great.  
  
Good, glad to hear it. Uh, Nick, the reason I called...I'm going to be in New York at the end of the week. Thought maybe we could, uhm, have dinner Friday night. Whadaya say?  
  
Nick's face took on a slightly wary expression, and a couple seconds passed before he replied, Sure, okay.  
  
Good, good. Well, I'm flying in Thursday night. How bout I call you from the hotel (I'll be at the Essex), and we can set something up?  
  
All right.  
  
Okay, see you then, son.  
  
  
  
Nick put the phone down slowly, and turned back to the couch with a pensive look on his face.   
  
That was your father? Minette inquired.  
  
Yeah.... He's coming to town, and wants to have dinner with me Friday night.  
  
Well, that's nice.  
  
Nick answered automatically, walking back to the couch, and resuming his place next to Minette. She leaned against him, and rested one hand on his thigh, as she said, You've never talked much about your father. What's he like?  
  
Nick sighed. He's a lawyer--a very successful lawyer.  
  
Minette turned to face Nick, and gave him a quizzical look. What does that mean?  
  
That means he can be a ruthless son-of-a-bitch when he wants to be.  
  
She looked at Nick searchingly. Yeah, but that's in business, right? That's not how he is with you?  
  
Nick's face took on a semi-sarcastic expression as he tilted his head, considering her question. But when he answered, it was to say slowly,   
  
Must be a while since you've seen him, right?  
  
I guess.  
  
Well, you and I've been together--what?--almost six months now, and you've never seen him in that time, have you?  
  
  
  
Minette began, but Nick put a finger to her lips to silence her, and turned his attention back to nuzzling her neck. He worked his way slowly from there up to her mouth, and kissed her softly. He pulled his head back, and said with a gleam in his eye, There's something else I'd much rather be doing right now than talking about my father. Minette laughed softly, and placing her hands on Nick's head, gently pulled his lips back down to hers.  
  
---+---  
  
It was Thursday evening, and Nick was wading through some of the paperwork he'd brought home from the office while awaiting his father's call. The cordless phone was at his elbow. He'd been a little keyed up all week, thinking of this reunion' with his father. He and his dad had always had problems communicating, but it only seemed to have grown worse in recent years. It was almost as if they were strangers to each other. He supposed that in a lot of ways they were.   
  
Around 9:30PM the phone rang. Nick picked it up on the first ring.  
  
he said.  
  
Nick, it's me.  
  
  
  
Well, I'm at the hotel...finally. I tell ya, the shit the airlines put you through these days is freaking ridiculous! We sat on the tarmac for an hour in Pittsburgh, then land here, and sit for another hour! It's complete crap!  
  
Yeah, I'm...sorry to hear that.  
  
Yeah, well. Anyway...about tomorrow night. You want to meet me here at the hotel, or at the restaurant? I figured I'd let you pick where we eat since this is your stomping ground.  
  
I, uh, I'll pick you up at your hotel--the Essex House on Central Park South, right?  
  
Yeah, that's right.  
  
Okay, see you about 7:00?  
  
Isn't that a little early for you, son? We could make it 8:00 instead.  
  
No. No, 7:00's fine.  
  
Okay. Night, Nick.  
  
'Night, Dad  
  
Nick put down the phone, and stared off into space for a moment, before returning his attention to the papers spread out over the kitchen table.  
  
---+---  
  
The taxi discharged Nick at the entrance to the Essex. He was upset with himself because he was running late. He had told his father 7:00, and it was almost 7:20 now. His father valued promptness, so the evening was not getting off to a propitious start.  
  
Hurrying into the lobby, Nick barely noticed the elegant decor. Striding up to Reception, he waited impatiently for someone to assist him. When a young woman at last said, May I help you, Sir? Nick replied, Yes. I need to let my father know I'm here.  
  
Your father's name? asked the clerk.  
  
Burton Fallin.  
  
The desk clerk located Burton's room number, and placed the call, handing the phone to Nick once the line was ringing.  
  
Burton picked up the phone before Nick barely had time to get the receiver to his ear.  
  
Dad, it's me, Nick said. I'm, I'm sorry I'm late. I'm in the lobby now.  
  
Burton said, I'll be right down.  
  
Nick walked back into the center of the lobby to wait. In just a couple minutes, Burton emerged from the elevator, and paused, looking around for Nick. Spotting him, he made his way toward his son with a brisk stride.   
  
His father was much as Nick remembered him: tall, hair gone mostly white, bald on top, with a large moustache obscuring his upper lip. The only change Nick could perceive was that his father might have put on a little weight.   
  
As Burton got closer, Nick could see the smile lighting up his father's face. Reaching his son's side, Burton extended his hand. Nick took it, and received his father's hearty handshake. Nick found himself returning Burton's smile, albeit a much smaller version, while his father clapped him on the arm affectionately.   
  
Burton said warmly. It's good to see you son, real good. You look great!   
  
Nick ducked his head while replying,   
  
So, where we going? I'm starved!  
  
We've got reservations at the Columbus Grill. It's a steak and seafood place. I, uh, I think you'll like it.  
  
Okay, sounds perfect. Lead the way, Burton replied, sweeping one arm in front of him.   
  
Father and son walked through the lobby, and out to the street. The doorman quickly hailed them a cab, and they were on their way. There was silence for a few moments, then Burton asked, So, uh, how, how are you liking New York?  
  
Nick shrugged. It's...well, it's got it's good and bad points, like anything. Most of the time I, I like it.  
  
Burton said, reflectively. And what about Swann & Cranston? You happy there?  
  
Yeah, I am, Nick replied simply.  
  
Burton looked thoughtful at this statement, but didn't comment. Nick then proceeded to ask what brought Burton to New York, and his father explained that a local Pittsburgh accounting firm, Randall & Associates, was in the process of being acquired by a New York company, Mallory & Baines. Burton's firm was handling the deal for Randall & Associates.   
  
Burton concluded, It was really already a done-deal. Roger Turner--have I mentioned him before? Nick shook his head . Well Roger's been handling it for us. I just came up for the final sign off. Nick nodded his understanding.  
  
Within a few minutes they were at their destination. Nick started to reach for his wallet, but Burton laid a hand on his son's arm, and paid the fare himself. They walked into the restaurant, Nick slightly in the lead. Once inside, it was obvious that this was a popular spot. People were packed into the foyer, awaiting their tables, and the bar was full, as well.   
  
Winding through the crowd, Nick and Burton made their way up to the hostess stand. When the hostess turned to them, Nick said, raising his voice to be heard above the din, Nick Fallin. I have a reservation for 7:30.   
  
The hostess consulted her sheet, and said, That was a table in smoking', correct?   
  
Yes, that's right.   
  
It will be just a few minutes, Mr. Fallin. Here, she said, handing him a beeper wand. This will beep when your table's ready.   
  
said Nick. As he and Burton started to walk away, Burton, who hadn't been close enough to hear the hostess' explanation, asked, What the hell's that?   
  
It's a beeper to let us know when our tables ready, said Nick. Here, let's see if we can find an open spot in the bar.  
  
They threaded their way through the crowd again, and into the lounge. It was actually a little quieter there. Ordering a couple of drinks, they retreated to a clear section of the room to wait for their table. Luckily, in less than 5 minutes the pager went off. They braved the throng once more, and in moments were seated, menus in hand.  
  
Popular spot, Burton commented.  
  
Yes, I guess it is, Nick replied, glancing around.  
  
Come here often?  
  
No, not really.   
  
The waiter, a man in his early thirties, appeared, and asked if they'd like to see the wine list. Burton told him that they would. The waiter handed him the leather-bound folder, and then said, Let me tell you about our specials. After reeling off a long list of what Nick knew his father would refer to as frou-frou dishes', the waiter asked Burton if he had any questions about the wine. Burton said, and proceeded to order a bottle of a good French merlot. The waiter left, promising to return shortly to take their dinner order.  
  
So, what's good? asked Burton, looking over the menu.  
  
The steaks are very good, Nick said. And, and the seafood too, he finished somewhat lamely, coloring slightly.  
  
Burton stole a quick glance at his son over the top of the menu, but, charitably, his only comment was,   
  
In just a few minutes, the waiter came back, and took their orders.  
  
Burton took another sip of his Scotch, and sat back in his chair. So, how, uh, how's the apartment working out?  
  
It's fine.  
  
Rent's pretty steep though, huh?  
  
Well, yeah, Nick said, with a tilt of his head, but this in New York. You've got to expect that.  
  
Burton replied, nodding in agreement. I bet you miss driving though, don't you, son? The feeling of freedom you get behind the wheel of a car?  
  
Well, I guess...a little. But you can get anywhere you need to be in this city by taxi or subway.  
  
The subway? Jesus, Nicholas.  
  
Wha-what? The subway's quick, and it's convenient. It's much safer and cleaner than it used to be too. I know lots of people who take the subway.  
  
His father still looked dubious.  
  
There was silence for a few moments, and then Nick drew in a breath, and asked, So, so how are things back in Pittsburgh? Anything new? He cringed inwardly, wishing for the umpteenth time that it wasn't so difficult to make casual conversation with his father.   
  
Well, let's see.... There's some group up-in-arms about restoring the natural state of the rivers again. Carried out some damn-fool stunt of chaining themselves to the entrance to the water treatment plant...some such nonsense.  
  
  
  
Then there's another hullabaloo over at City Hall about trash pickup. The garbage collectors are threatening to go on strike if they don't get a better raise. I tell ya, it never ends, Burton concluded, finishing off his Scotch.  
  
  
  
Father and son continued to make quiet conversation. Burton asked about Nick's current cases at Swann & Cranston, and Nick asked in turn about what was happening at Fallin & Associates. A few awkward pauses crept in here and there, but eventually one or the other of them would hit upon a new topic for discussion, and talk would flow again  
  
After about twenty minutes their dinners arrived, and conversation died down as they turned their attention to their plates. The portions were more than generous, and the food good, and both men felt well-satisfied by the time they were finishing up the last of their meals. Well son, said Burton, that Porterhouse was excellent. It really hit the spot. I admit I was a little doubtful at first, but this place was a good choice.  
  
  
  
Just then the busboy came by to remove their plates, and almost on his heels was the waiter with the dessert tray. Gentlemen, can I interest you in dessert? We have some delicious Kona-Mocha mousse, and a gorgeous Bavarian, triple-chocolate cake, to just name two.   
  
Not for me, Burton said.   
  
No, no, I'm fine, Nick replied.   
  
Just coffee, Burton said. The waiter looked at Nick expectantly, And for you, Sir?   
  
Coffee would be great.  
  
As the waiter left, Burton took out a cigarette, placed it in his mouth, and lit it. Nick watched as his father blew out a long stream of smoke.   
  
Burton cleared his throat, and leaned forward. Nicholas, I'd like you to consider coming to work for me. Taken unawares, Nick couldn't keep the surprise from showing on his face. But it was quickly banished to be replaced by his usual, unrevealing mask. His father continued, I know Pittsburgh is no New York, son, but it has its own advantages. So does working for a firm like mine. A young man with your talent.... Well, a young man with your talent could go far at Fallin & Associates, Nicholas. Burton paused, and laughed self-deprecatingly. I did all right. I did fine, in fact, but you, you know about this whole new world of ours--computers, the, the Internet, E-commerce--that's the word, right? You know more about those things than I ever will, son. And I'm too old to start learning all that crap now.  
  
Burton tapped the ash off his cigarette. But it's more than that, Nicholas. I was smart, and I, uh, I busted my ass. But with me it was more a matter of, of willing it to happen. It was discipline, son. Discipline, and plain, ole, pig-headed stubbornness that got me where I am. But I look at you...I listen to you...talking about your cases; hell, talking about my cases, and I know you've got that something extra, Nicholas. You've got the instinct. You've got the brains and the instinct, son. You're a natural.... That's nothing I've taught you--can't be taught. You're either born with it, or you're not. You've got it, and I want it, want it on my team.  
  
Burton took another puff on his cigarette, and looked at Nick to gauge his reaction. But, Nick was giving away nothing by his expression, nor did he make any comment. Burton offered a smile, and said, Think about it, son. You don't have to give me your answer right now. Take a few days, and then let me know what you decide.  
  
Nick just nodded, still semi-stunned by both the unexpected offer and the praise. At that moment, the waiter arrived with their coffee. After he had filled their cups, and asked the obligatory, Will there be anything else?, he left. Burton chose to steer the conversation in a new direction, and he and Nick talked of other things until the waiter brought the check. Burton laid his gold-card on the tray, and in no time they were up from the table, and headed for the exit. The crowds were still thick around the door, and it was a relief to Nick to get back outside into the fresh air. Burton lit another cigarette as Nick stepped off the curb to hail a cab. As he did so, Burton noticed how the breeze was ruffling the curls atop his son's head. He shook his own head ruefully, remembering how those curls had been a point of contention between Anne and himself. When Nick was small, Anne had insisted on keeping the boy's hair long. She had loved his mass of blonde curls. Burton had insisted that people would mistake Nicholas for a girl (in fact, this had not been an uncommon occurrence). Finally, when Nick was about three, Burton had put his foot down, and from then on the boy's hair had been kept at an appropriate length.  
  
Father and son were mostly silent on the ride back to the hotel. As the driver pulled up to the Essex, Burton turned to Nick. No need to get out, Nicholas. Keep the cab. Nick nodded. Burton looked at Nick for a moment, and then said with a smile, Well, it, it was great to see you, son. I'll talk to you in a few days. Nick said, , as he nodded again. Burton looked as if he wanted to say more, but finally with one last look at his son, he opened the door, and got out of the cab.  
  
Nick gave the driver his home address, and sat back in the seat, exhaling a long breath. Now that his father was gone, he gave free-rein to the emotion that had been building inside him since Burton had first mentioned his coming to work at Fallin & Associates. A half-embarrassed grin crept across his face, and his eyes lit with pleasure as he thought about his father's offer, about all the things he had said. Nick could feel an inner glow of pride spreading up from his mid-section. Dad wants me to come work for him, he thought. He thinks I'm a Despite himself, he was inordinately pleased.   
  
Nick knew, of course, that compared to New York, Pittsburgh was a mere back-water. All the movers and shakers were here. Yet, he also knew that at Swann & Cranston he'd face stiff competition for advancement. At his father's firm it would be a whole different deal. And, he had to admit, he liked the sound of it : Nick Fallin of Fallin & Associates. He could picture himself saying that. It sounded...right'.   
  
He recalled how when he was a small boy, and other kids were dreaming of being firemen or astronauts, he used to say that when he grew up, he was going to be a lawyer, and work at his daddy's office. He didn't know exactly when he had stopped repeating that. He supposed it would have been about the time his parents got divorced. But though he'd ceased to voice it aloud, at least the first half of his goal had never changed. He had still wanted to be a lawyer. He had never been able to explain to himself exactly why. And he had been very relieved to find he actually enjoyed practicing law once he got out of school. He liked the mental challenge. He liked doing battle with another worthy opponent'...the thrill of victory', and all that. There was something almost...visceral...about it.  
  
Nick turned his mind back to the current question: whether he should leave Swann & Cranston, leave New York, to work for his father. Even though he knew he should objectively weigh all the pros and cons before making the decision, in his heart he already knew the answer was yes'. He'd go back to Pittsburgh, go to work at Fallin and Associates. He wouldn't tell his father right away, would let him stew for a few days, but he'd already made up his mind. He was headed home.  
  
The End  
  
  
  



End file.
